


For nimble thought can jump both sea and land

by TheLionInMyBed



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, And it was said that ever after, I'm Sorry, M/M, Masturbation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, he saw only Fingon's dick, if any man looked in that Stone, that's the fic, unless he had a great strength of will to turn it to other purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLionInMyBed/pseuds/TheLionInMyBed
Summary: Even before Sauron seized them and twisted them to his own purpose, using the palantíri was always a risky business.Fingon loves risk almost as much as he loves Maedhros.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пересекают мысли океан](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10383351) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



In peaceful Valinor, the palantíri had been a curiosity, useful for exchanging court gossip and organising fetes with distant kin, but only a little more effective than sending messenger birds.

It was amidst the war and chaos of Beleriand that they proved their worth.

 _How many?_ Fingon asked, cradling the cool stone between his palms.

Verbalising thought was more difficult than the exchange of images and emotions and so Maedhros’ answer came as a series of impressions - grass torn and stamped to mud beneath the marching boots of an army, cook fires burning upon a darkened plain, pikes blackly silhouetted against a blue spring sky. _Many._ Their own great hosts, in red and blue and gold, a field of bright-thorned roses beneath the sun. _But not close to enough._

 _A feint?_ Fingon wondered and felt Maedhros’ agreement. _Dorthonion_ , he thought, projecting bare, rocky peaks and piney highlands. _Father thinks there is where the true attack will come_.

The fair trees of Fingon’s memory were hewn and felled, as Maedhros took hold of the image and, in the blackened fields, crude fortresses rose like anthills, crawling with orcs in their chitinous black armour. _It would divide us and give him a forward base within our lands. Yes, Dorthonion makes much sense. I can be there to reinforce them in five days. Four if we force march._ A brief, questioning image of Angrod and Aegnor. _Can they hold so long?_

 _They say they can and we move to aid them too. I shall see you in Dorthonion._ Fingon tossed his seeing stone and caught it in one hand, rolled it up to teeter upon the tip of one finger, and then let it fall back into his palm.

_Are you trying to make me giddy?_

Fingon tried to think apologetic thoughts but it was not easy. A battle! A glorious battle and Maedhros beside him afterwards.

 _Which do you want more?_ Their plans in place, Fingon felt Maedhros relax his rigid grip upon himself, not severing their connection entirely but letting some emotion colour the thoughts he shared. Concern for their besieged cousins, eagerness for a reckoning and, most of all, warm affection for Fingon himself.

Fingon was not so guarded and did not even try to suppress his own yearning. Or to hide the next thought to strike him. _What are you wearing?_

Amusement and then the rustle of mail, the smell of well-oiled leather and the tickle of a fur collar about his ears. _Armour. Obviously._

_Show me._

A pause as Maedhros concentrated and suddenly Fingon was  _there_ , in his command tent. The perspective was strange - that of a taller man, Fingon realised after some disorientation - as was the focus. The canvas walls and furniture were indistinct but the maps and letters upon the trestle table, the weapons in their rack, the tent’s entrance through which an enemy might come, all those were so clear it felt as though he might touch them.

But it was not the tent he wished to see. Fingon radiated frustration until Maedhros chided him - _how often do_ you  _think about your trousers?_ \- and turned his attention to the long legs stretched out before him, clad in what was, he reminded Fingon pointedly, thoroughly unglamorous wool.

 _Take them off then_ , Fingon thought hopefully.

His sense of Maedhros diminished abruptly. Not gone entirely but withdrawn. Considering. _Your father has a palantír_ , Fingon heard at last. _My brothers. If one of them-_

_They’ve walked in on us before._

_This would be a fair bit more intimate,_ Maedhros said, and then, _Ah well._ In a field tent somewhere near the Pass of Aglon, Fingon felt him, very carefully, set the palantír down upon the table and then drop his hand to fumble his breeches open.

It was fortunate indeed that Fingon was within his own chambers, sat down upon the bed, for suddenly his knees went weak. If he had thought Maedhros’ feelings warm before, that was nothing to the sudden blaze that heated him now, burning like a beacon across the many leagues between them. Fingon responded in kind, sending a jumbled mix of images as swiftly as he might grasp them - the taste of Maedhros’ mouth and the sharp lines of his smile, his voice crying orders upon the field and whispering endearments, the feel of Maedhros atop him, inside him-

_Fingon._

_Look down, please, I want to see, I want-_

_Fingon! If I wanted to fuck myself we wouldn’t need the stones._ But the mock exasperation vanished very quickly. _I need to see you too. What are_ you  _wearing?_ Hopefully; _Are you naked?_

 _Watch_. Fingon paid careful attention to the brush of fabric of his robes against his skin as he shrugged out of them, the drag against his nipples and his growing erection. Better than the physical sensation was the knowledge that, far away, Maedhros was sagging back in his chair with a groan, his own cock hardening in his hand.

 _Beautiful_ , Maedhros told him as Fingon kicked aside his smallclothes, and Fingon felt - as, he realised, Maedhros must feel - heat prick at his cheeks despite the coolness of the room.

 _Say it again_ , he ordered.

_You’re beautiful._

Fingon, well aware that he was reckoned comely and not ashamed of taking pleasure in that fact, found he did not entirely share Maedhros’ objection to images of himself. He also found that Maedhros needed no coaxing at all to offer them up.

 _I’m not_ quite _that big_ , he objected, once, and then had no choice but to apologise in the face of Maedhros’ indignation. _You’re right about one thing though; I_ do _look good with your cock down my throat_.

_That you do. Lie back. Spread your legs._

The bedsheets were cool beneath him as Fingon obeyed. _What now?_ he asked eagerly; he did not know which he liked better, commanding Maedhros or taking his commands, but he got significantly less of the latter and relished it every time it happened.

_Touch yourself. Use your left hand and pretend-_

_Yes_.

It was nothing Fingon had not done himself a hundred times before but with Maedhros’ praise sweet in his ears and the knowledge of his focus upon him, it was better than he’d thought possible. It was not the same as being with him in the flesh, not quite. But it was not nothing.

Fingon’s will was very great and he focused all of it upon himself, upon his harsh, desperate breathing, upon the slide of sweat across his bared skin, and upon his cock, slick and firm in his grip. And he took it all and gave it over to the seeing stone. _Can you feel that?_

 _What’s wrong?_ he added coyly when Maedhros’ answer was a muddle of unverbalised sensation - cold steel pressed to his mouth to quiet his groan, his other hand tight about the cock he was _still_ inconsiderately failing to look at. _Is this overtaxing? Should we stop?_

 _Don’t you dare._ From Maedhros, Fingon felt the same the coiling pleasure, and the almost-uncomfortable intimacy - this was more than a joining of bodies after all. Under his joy in Fingon lay fear of discovery and deeper fears, better hidden and Fingon retreated from that knowledge as swiftly as he’d come to it.

 _We can stop_ , he said, no longer teasing.

_Why? I trust you. With this as with all else. Stop getting distracted. Open yourself for me._

_How should I do that? Show me._

Ever accommodating to his lord, Maedhros did. The images he shared were lewd enough that Fingon felt himself blush even as he slide his fingers into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks around them. The skin was rough and salty with precome, and he flicked his tongue over the pads, trying to imagine they were not his, trying to picture how he must look splayed out upon the bed with his mouth filled and Maedhros’ hand upon his cock.

 _Vanity_ , Maedhros told him, but underneath came other thoughts; _Fair, so fair, it is like looking upon the Sun, upon the Trees in all their splendor._

 _Flattery_ , Fingon thought, but he was a poor liar even in the flesh, never mind in this realm where all pretence was stripped away, and he could not hide how the praise warmed him. Not when it made his cock throb in his hand and his hips buck of their own accord.

Hurrying now, he drew his fingers from his mouth with a filthy sound that was only half deliberate and trailed them down over his stomach, coming to rest between his legs. Though his thighs were trembling and the muscle twitched at his touch, he hesitated just a moment to feel Maedhros’ breath catch and to hear his wordless order to go on.

Maedhros would be more careful with him, indeed snapped _Slower!_ when Fingon pressed in with two fingers at once. Fingon only half-listened for the ache was a pleasure of its own, one more sensation to share, so that he was no longer sure which of them was moaning, if the cool steel was pressed to Maedhros’ lips or his, whose hand was twisting inside him.

Somewhere along the way he found himself begging - _more, please, yes, there_ \- and had enough of a sense of himself to realise how senseless it was, and yet could not stop.

_Hush, hush, who knows who may be listening? Take another for me now, you’re so tight but I know you can, you’re so good-_

Fingon did as he was bid and did not think he moaned aloud, for all the difference it made. One last look down at his own body, taut muscles gleaming as though oiled in the torchlight, his cock flushed and proud in his hand - if he was not quite as impressive as Maedhros believed him to be, he could hardly be called a disappointment - and then he closed his eyes. In the dark behind them it was Maedhros’ clever fingers stroking him, Maedhros’ cock filling him up. He could not stop his muscles clenching at the thought and, far away, Maedhros’ breath hissed between his teeth.

If Maedhros had maintained more self-control than Fingon, that was saying very little; he had given up on words entirely and sent only the knowledge of Fingon tight around him and the frustrated need to touch _more_ of him beyond this echo they had conjured.

Fingon could feel Maedhros’ was close now, as he was close himself and though he wanted very badly to draw it out, to feel Maedhros inside him for as long as he might, it had been so long since they had lain together last.

His climax broke over him and Maedhros, with a shudder and a scarcely muffled cry, was dragged after. In the rush of pleasure and the great, roaring blackness that came with it, the connection between them wavered, almost broke, and both of them, still dazed, went scrambling for it. Fingon clutched frantically at his palantír, his fingers leaving pale streaks upon the dark stone. _Maedhros?_

 _Here._ Maedhros’ awareness coiled around him, warm and content and Fingon, relaxing, could almost, _almost_ believe he lay beside him. _Not on those sheets_ , Maedhros thought and, though the sense of closeness did not change, Fingon felt him rise and reach for a ewer of clean water.

Fingon himself would have been content to lie where he was in the warm lassitude of completion and the safety of his lover’s embrace were it not for the sudden, disagreeable sensation of having his hand plunged into icy water.

 _I’m sorry_ , Maedhros told him, drawing back as abruptly as if he were the one who’d been shocked, Fingon’s awareness of the cold abruptly deadening.

It was hard to know which of them thought of the Ice first but Fingon did not think that it was him. _I suppose I’m glad you started with your hand_ , he groused to show there were no hard feelings. _Stop fussing and lie down._

_I still need to speak with my captains about preparations for tomorrow’s march and then-_

Needful though it was, Fingon was not entirely ready to release him. _You never did let me watch you-_ he began, only to be interrupted by a voice that, while a comfort in most other situations, now caused in him more horror than that of the Enemy.

_-lo? Is this working? Nephew, are you there?_

_My lord uncle_ , said Maedhros, doing a somewhat convincing impression of a man who did not have his trousers hanging half off his hips.

 _Oh, hello,_ thought the High King cheerfully. _I’m glad I could catch you before you retired. Regarding your disposition for- I. Ah. Is that Fing-_

Renowned as he was for his swiftness in battle, Fingon would have preferred it had that same celerity saved him now, though falling out of bed in flailing terror did break his focus and achieve much the same result.

It was, he thought, nursing a bruised elbow, because of the inability to keep _private_ councils truly private that the palantíri had never been more popular.

The matter must be brought to Curufin, he decided. Surely not because he was a besotted fool with a handsome lover he did not see as often as he liked, but for the safety of their realms and the assurance of their victory. What if the Enemy captured one? What disaster might be wreaked upon them?

***

“My father’s work is flawless,” said Curufin. “And I shall not let you _pervert_ it. Send him an erotic etching if you must.”

**Author's Note:**

> On [tumblr](http://thelioninmybed.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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